


to the ephemeral ones

by yukjaem



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: M/M, With Supernatural Elements, flower shop au, kinda slow burn?, minor changlix and seungjin and woochan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14918220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukjaem/pseuds/yukjaem
Summary: “we know the flowers’ petals will fall someday. and yet still, we’re entranced by them.”against all odds, minho and jisung find each other.





	to the ephemeral ones

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is inspired by natsume yuujinchou (and the quote is also taken from it), although the only thing you need to know is that yōkai are like the supernatural in japanese folklore. otherwise, thanks for checking this out! \o/
> 
>  
> 
> song recs:  
> [akane sasu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qmhFvnqNaU) by aimer  
> [floria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rb-RMDSXZrI) by tomohisa sako  
> [aishiteru](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3E9u6xwfNc) by kourin  
> 

Jisung presses his forehead against the window of the train, watching as the vast fields blur past, mixing into soft green, pink and blue hues. He tunes out his little brother's faint chatters and his parents' laughter. There's a sense of tranquillity that settles in, curling pleasantly into his stomach, as dark green forests stretch out before him and lines of charcoal grey mountains grow jaggedly in the distance.

The sun is high in the sky - he can feel the heat permeating through the glass - and the train engines murmur in a familiar pulse, rocking him back and forth in his seat.

He closes his eyes, a smile at the corner of his lips.

"Hyung, we're here." His little brother, Jeongin, prods his shoulder. Jisung rubs his eyes, erasing the vestiges of sleep from his vision. His parents are already ready, leather-worn suitcases in hand with patches of pink and yellow sewed along the edges.

"Hurry up, dear," his mother says, eyes twinkling with mirth. "We don't have all day."

But they do; at least, it feels like they have all the time in the world.

He adjusts his glasses, thin black circular frames that sit on the tip of his nose. Poor eyesight runs in the family; Jeongin has a similar pair in gold. "I'm coming, mother," he says, grabbing his suitcase from the top racks and following his family out.

Jisung shields his eyes from the sun's glare. A clear cerulean sky bends over him. He takes a deep breath of the fresh air, the warm wind - a new start. A quaint town in the middle of nowhere. His best friend had said that it sounded utterly bland, but Jisung knows that’s just Changbin's way of saying he'll miss him. Jisung had hummed in agreement, but, truthfully, unlike Changbin, he's eager to get away from the city. He knows Jeongin feels the same.

"Ready?" he asks his little brother. Their parents wait further ahead. Jeongin tugs on his sleeve, dragging him forward, a broad smile etched on his face.

"Of course. What are you waiting for, hyung? Let's go."

❀

Time in the countryside trickles through Jisung's fingers. They settle in a traditional house. It has three rooms and paper-thin walls, a small kitchen and a sliding door that opens to a garden, where he and Jeongin can admire the koi fish swimming in the pond, a whirl of yellow, red and blue. Yellow of the summer heat, red of the fallen leaves, blue of the melted snow, and before Jisung realises it, cherry blossoms are blooming pink, then have flown away in the wind. It's May.

"G'morning to my two favourite brothers," Felix greets them at their doorsteps, tipping his grey newsboy hat towards them. A tuft of blond hair escapes and curls over his forehead and the splatter of freckles on his cheeks glows in the sun.

"Do you even know any other pairs of brothers?" asks Jisung dryly.

Felix sticks out his tongue in return.

"Morning, Felix hyung!" Jeongin pipes up from over Jisung's shoulder, so Felix reaches out to ruffle his hair, a raspy chuckle at the back of his throat, and Jisung lets them have their moment before punching his friend on the shoulder.

"Come on. We're gonna be late to school."

They're never late, but Jisung likes taking his time, unhurried steps down the trail beside the forest, and across the bridge, where they can spot the mountain peaks. Sometimes, they stop by the coffee shop. Felix's converted Jisung to overly sweet coffee early in the day, although Jeongin doesn't follow suit, which is a surprise. The kid's looked up to Felix ever since he first witnessed Felix demonstrate a backflip. Jisung should have felt insulted, but, instead, a wave of relief had washed over him. His little brother has someone else to look up to.

The three of them stick together. Felix doesn't have any other friends, really, and Jisung wonders how lonely it was for his loud friend before he and Jeongin had moved in. It must have been tough growing up in an area with such few people. But Jisung doesn't miss the city. Not yet. He likes the familiarity, the bond he shares with each local - from the old lady who likes to pinch his cheeks to the neighbourhood tabby who gets fed from pitying locals so often, he's grown fat.

A crow caws at them, perched on top of a fence. Jisung remembers, back in early October, he had noticed the crow stuck underneath a pile of trash and had helped it free. Its tail feathers remain crooked from the incident.

"You look like a lunatic," Felix helpfully supplies when Jisung smiles and waves back at the crow. "I'm telling you, that can't be the same crow you saved. Impossible. How long are their lifespans, anyway?"

"I dunno. But I know that's the same crow, Felix, don't patronise me," Jisung retaliates.

"Crows are pretty smart, actually. They can recognise faces, so I wouldn't be surprised if that’s the same crow Jisung hyung saved,” says Jeongin. “And by the way, did y’know that crows mated for life? If their partner dies, they stay alone forever. It's kinda sad, once you think about it. Do you think that crow's lost his partner already, or is still in the process of looking for one? I hope it’s the latter." Jeongin pauses, suddenly aware of Felix's gaping mouth. "What? I did my research," he adds defensively.

"You’re brilliant," Jisung replies for Felix, smiling proudly. Jeongin smiles back, hesitant, braces on display.

Now, every time they pass the crow - ruffling its ebony feathers and cocking its head proudly - standing alone, Jisung wonders if the crow is lonely. Has it lost a loved one, or like Jeongin said, is it still searching?

❀

He's on the phone with Changbin, telling him about his week - Felix had made a fool out of himself while trying to fish - when his friend cuts him off.

"You really are happier there, aren't you?"

"I don't know," Jisung says, finally. He twiddles with the phone cord. “Jeongin is happier here, and that’s all that matters.”

The pause on the other line lasts for a while.

"Changbin?"

"You'll find it eventually, Jisung. Whatever you're looking for, you'll find it. Just take your time."

Jisung smiles. "Yeah, I know, Changbin. Thanks."

The thing is, despite how much he loves this town's atmosphere and everything that comes along with it, he can't shake off the inexplicable feeling of loneliness that follows him wherever he goes. He’s made friends in the city, gone on dates with girls and guys alike, found passion in creative writing. It was fun, but something was definitely lacking, leaving him unfulfilled.

❀

It's Mother's Day when he meets him.

There's a chalkboard stand in front of the flower shop saying nothing but, 'Happy Mother's Day!' in cursive writing. Jisung's never been to the shop before, _‘_ To The Ephemeral Ones.’ It’s an odd name for a flower shop, but Felix had recommended him this place. In fact, all of the locals had, but then again, Jisung's not sure there are any other flower shops in the vicinity.

When he walks in, he's engulfed in the delicate, soothing scents. There are flowers hanging from potted plants, sorted in porcelain boxes, glass vases, wooden baskets. The shop’s like a painting, blended with all the colours of the rainbow. He can’t name many, except the red roses, white lilies, purple irises, and, are those white and pink carnations? Then Jisung spots a bouquet of unnamed azure blue flowers, placed carefully in a mason jar. He feels the strangest sense of deja vu, and reaches out to touch one of the petals with his fingertip.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Jisung flinches back, embarrassed. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Yes, sorry. It’s Mother’s Day today, and I wanted to get my mother a bouquet…”

He looks up, and his heart stutters to a stop - maybe there's a reason why the grandmothers had spoken of this place so fondly. The florist is a young man; he looks like he’s a few years older than Jisung. He has dark, soft hair that falls over his forehead, long fluttering eyelashes, gentle eyes, and a face sculpted by the gods. Faintly, Jisung can hear the bells continuing to chime by the entrance.

"Oh, I see. Does your mother have a favourite kind of flower?" The tag, 'Minho', is pinned against the florist’s black apron, and if Minho’s uncomfortable by his blatant staring, he doesn't show it.

"Jisung," Jisung blurts out.

Minho blinks back, perplexed. "Jisung?"

"That's my name. In case you were wondering. My name is Han Jisung." Then, like an idiot, he takes out his hand. “You?”

“Lee Minho.” Minho shakes his hand. He tilts his head back and lets out a short laugh. “Nice to meet you, Jisung. Are all high school students like this?”

“You can’t be that much older,” he retorts. When Minho lets go of his hand, he feels his face redden, blood rushing to his ears.

Minho fixes him with a small quirk of the lips, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps.”

Minho, Jisung decides, can’t be human.

He ends up buying his mother’s favourite kind of flowers - carnations. Minho grabs a bunch from a pot near him, already cut and ready for use. He tucks the flowers in between each other, somehow magically working his fingers so that the flowers are intertwined in a simple bouquet of pink and white.

“Your mother has good taste. Carnations, particularly pink carnations, carry the greatest significance, beginning with the belief that they first appeared on earth from the Virgin Mary's tears - making them the symbol of a mother's everlasting love,” Minho says. He wraps the bouquet in wax paper and clear plastic, then finishes it off with a purple ribbon.

Jisung swallows, nodding in surprise; he’d been so taken by Minho’s deft fingers that he had almost missed the explanation. He glances up. Sunlight filters through the cracks of the ivy and vine-covered lattice at the front window. Time slows down, and Jisung can see the dust, floating in the air, unmoving. A ring of molten gold lights the brown in Minho’s eyes. Otherworldly. Jisung thinks he can drown in those eyes.

“Jisung?”

“Hm? Oh, right. Thanks.” His hands flutter as he tries to take the bouquet. “How much?”

“For you? It’s free.”

“Wait, what? No, I can’t. Please just name a price and -”

Minho places his index finger on his lips, eyes twinkling with amusement. Jisung shuts up. “No bargaining allowed. Now, hurry along before I change my mind. I’ll see you next time.”

Jisung leaves the shop in a daze, bells chiming behind him when he closes the door. A whiff of flowers, nostalgia, slips through.

The flowers in his own hands smell sweet and remind him of his mother, so he heads home.

 

 

_“I’ll see you next time.”_

 

 

“What do you think he meant by that?” Jisung asks Changbin a week later. His parents are out on a date to the city aquarium, so they won’t be home until late. Felix is staying over, and he and Jeongin are out collecting miscellaneous objects. Jisung’s supposed to be cooking dinner, but he’s busy huddling in a corner, the home phone tucked under his ear. “Is that a common thing for handsome florists to say or what? And _why_ were the flowers free? Don’t tell me he has a crush on my mother?!”

“Jisung, I doubt he has a crush on your mother,” Changbin says patiently. “Maybe he was just feeling nice that day?”

Jisung buries his head in his arms. “I _know._ Logically, I know I’m overreacting, but I can’t stop thinking about him! It’s, like, whenever I see or smell a damn flower, I think of him. Did I ever mention that his face is ethereal? He’s gotta be an angel or something.”

“You have. I believe this is the fifth time you’ve called me to rant about his so-called ‘beautiful’ face.”

“But he _is_ beautiful!” Jisung wails. “I’ve met all sorts of hot guys and girls, but Minho puts them all to shame.”

There’s a pause.

“Changbin? Did you hang up on me?”

Silence, then there’s the audible sound of a sigh. “Why do you always have to call me? Can’t you annoy this Felix guy instead?”

“I’ll be too embarrassed since Felix actually knows Minho,” he says with a pout. “And don’t say it like that. Felix really looks up to you.”

“I’ve never even met the guy.”

“Details,” Jisung dismisses. “I showed him your mixtape, and he’s fallen for your, and I quote, sexy raspy voice.”

Changbin had given him his finished mixtape as a farewell gift. Later, he and Jeongin had visited Felix’s place, and Jisung had played the mixtape on their VHS player. Felix was smitten with Changbin’s voice, and even more so when Jisung had shown him an old picture of Changbin and him at the skateboard park, earrings glinting, caps on backwards, smirking. It feels like that was taken such a long time ago.

“So he has good taste. Whatever,” Changbin says, after a pause. There’s a hint of pride in his voice. “Anyway, I’m sick of you pining for this guy you’ve only met once.”

“Ugh, that’s harsh, dude.”

“He sounds like he’s way out of your league, but you might as well go for it, Jisung. He might be the something you’ve been looking for.”

Then he hangs up, leaving Jisung staring at his phone, insulted by the blunt honesty. A burning smell of curry wafts into the room. Jisung curses under his breath; he forgot he left the stove on. Felix and Jeongin will never let it go if the meal turns out burnt.

❀

The next time he goes to the flower shop, ‘To The Ephemeral Ones,’ his heart’s beating at miles per seconds. He waits outside the door, counting his breaths until they even out. The glass windows gleam in the rising sun, glittering green and yellow, mystical like a page out of a fairy tale. Without trying to overthink it, he steps inside.

The bells chime upon his arrival, and, like before, a breath of fresh, sweet air greets him. Behind the counter is Minho, bangs clipped back to show a smooth forehead and strong brows. He’s wearing a white t-shirt this time, biceps straining against the fabric. His eyebrows are furrowed as he trims a bouquet of maroon gloxinias (Jisung’s done his research).

He glances up, and when he sees Jisung, his gaze softens subtly. The smile he gives him is effortless, yet still seems genuine. “I see you’re back!” He gives a little wave, and Jisung walks closer, made comfortable by the hospitality.

As he approaches, Minho tosses the scissors in a jar and brushes his hands against his pants. His lips curve up. “Did your mother like the carnations?”

Jisung blinks, taken aback. “You remember me?”

“It’s hard to forget a new face when this town is so small,” Minho says, amused.

“Oh, right. Yeah, mother loved them. They’re still on display in the living room.” Jisung scratches the back of his head, feeling his ears redden in embarrassment. “Sorry about that. The lack of sleep must be getting to me.”

Minho gives him a long, hard look, and Jisung shrinks away at the sudden attention.

“You’re right. You look exhausted, and I can see your eyebags.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jisung groans. He’d woken up early for this. He probably looks awful.

“Are you in a rush to go anywhere?”

“I don’t think so?” Jisung trails off with a shrug, because he has school but that’s later on. “Not in a while.”

“Alright then. I don’t usually do this, but -” Here, Minho slides open the wooden door from behind the counter and steps out, quickly pulling over a white stool from somewhere beneath a multitude of vines and leaves. He dusts a few specks of dirt off. “- sit. You look like you’re about to fall asleep any second now.”

For a moment, Jisung hesitates a little, but he eventually settles on the stool and makes himself comfortable. Minho bustles about in the back, grabbing a cast iron teapot, hidden from view by a hanging potted plant, and two mismatched teacups. They all look old but well-used, like antiques. He sets them on the counter, beside the azure blue flowers in the mason jar. Each flower has five round petals, darker in colour at the edges and lightening to a borderline white in the centre. They shimmer and ripple like the sea, cast under the dim light from overhead. Jisung’s hit by a sweet smell of nostalgia, and he can’t understand why.

“What are those called, by the way?” he asks, finger pointed to the seemingly magical flowers. He had already pored over countless library book but was unable to find the answer.

“Hm?” Minho turns from the mini stove at the back corner of the shop, where, Jisung notices, a kettle is already half-filled with water. His eyes light up. “Oh, those. They’re the shiraki flowers of Mitsubatake.”

“Never heard of it.” Jisung juts out his lower lip.

Minho lets out a laugh. “There are a lot of things you haven’t heard of. They’re rare-blooming and can only be found amidst the rocks of Mitsubatake, a mountain near here.”

“What do they symbolise?”

“Namely nostalgia. Sometimes other things,” Minho says with a small smile. “They’re my favourite flowers.”

Then before Jisung can prod any further, Minho turns back around and procures a tin box from another shelf. He opens it; a faint earthy smell hits Jisung’s nose, and he leans forward to see small, shrivelled yellow and white flowers in the tin.

“I’m brewing chrysanthemum tea,” Minho divulges. “It’ll wake you up.”

“Oh, no - I don’t want to impose,” Jisung clears his throat awkwardly - he doesn’t know how to say he’s not a big tea drinker ever since Felix introduced him to coffee, but Minho’s already got the water boiling, and he’s spooning flowers in the teapot, so Jisung doesn’t do anything but let out a small, “Thanks.” Minho waves away his politeness.

“I could use a cup myself, so I thought, why not? Plus, don’t you have school today? Can’t have you falling asleep during class.”

“Thanks,” Jisung says again. Then, accusingly, “How do you know I’m still a high school student? Maybe I’m older than you, Minho.”

“I’m not blind, Jisung. I can tell you’re a second year in high school.”

“I’m a third year! I’m nearly done with school,” Jisung snipes back defensively. At Minho’s knowing smile, he realises he fell for his trick and rests his elbows on the counter with a huff. “Not fair. Tell me, how old are you, Minho?”

“That’s ‘Minho hyung’ to you. I’m older than you and that’s all that matters,” is Minho’s evasive answer. He takes the kettle off the stove - water perfectly boiled - and pours it in the teapot. He closes the lid. “So, what brings you to my shop this early in the morning?”

Jisung stutters, mind blanking. He says the first thing that comes to mind. “A girl.”

The kind look Minho spares him is indulgent at best. He sits back on the stool behind the counter and clasps his hands together. “A girl? You’ve gotta give me more than that for me to help you. What kind of flowers does this girl like?”

Jisung immediately regrets the lie, but he can’t back down now. “I dunno? Can’t I just get her a coupla roses?” he says in a dull tone.

“No, that won’t do. Too impersonal,” Minho toots amiably. He goes through the process of decanting the tea, humming underneath his breath as Jisung watches. He looks calm, graceful. The tea is dark molten gold, swirling in his cup. Steam rises from the edges.

“Then what do you suggest?” Jisung takes the cup offered to him. He blows over it, and when it’s not steaming as much, he takes a small sip. It’s strong. To his surprise, he finds himself genuinely liking it.

Minho does the same, delicately taking a sip from his cup. His cup is made out of glass, and Jisung notices, enthralled, that the tea matches the colour of Minho’s inner irises. “Tell me then, how did you meet this girl? What is she like?”

Jisung rattles vague descriptions of the girl - dark hair, light-coloured eyes, sharp brows, ethereal to look at - and he stops midway when he realises he’s describing Minho. The florist doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. He’s nodding along with his story, solemn, and when Jisung hesitantly finishes his bullshit of a story about he fell in love with her at first sight, he sets his teacup down.

“I got it. Gimme a sec.”

He plucks the bouquet of maroon gloxinias that he was working on previously, precisely trimmed and tied in a bow, and presents it to Jisung with a flourish. “Gloxinias signify love at first sight. Perfect for you and the girl. Here, take it. It’s free for the sake of young love.”

Without warning, he thrusts it into Jisung’s hands. His slender fingers graze against his. Jisung feels his the tips of his ears pink up. “You blush easily, you know that?” notes Minho.

Before Jisung has the time to formulate a response, Minho continues, pointing behind him, “You should check the time too. Don’t want to be late to school.”

Jisung follows his line of sight, squinting at the hands on the grandfather clock, and curses underneath his breath. He hadn’t noticed the time. He hurriedly thanks Minho for the tea and free flowers, and rushes out, frazzled.

“Oh, and Jisung?” Minho calls out when Jisung’s hand touches the door.

He tilts his head back in question. “Yeah?”

“Next time you pay me a visit, you don’t have to make up an excuse, alright? Just come visit for fun.”

Jisung runs out of the shop, covering his face with the bouquet of gloxinias. Minho’s twinkling laughter mixes with the bell chimes behind him. _“You blush easily, you know that?”_ He slaps a hand against his flaming red cheek. Yes, he realises it now - he does blushes easily, especially around Minho.

❀

“Since when,” begins Felix, eyebrows raised, “were you a fan of _tea?"_

Jisung raises an eyebrow back at him, taking another sip of his ginseng tea. It’s hot down his throat, warming him inside and out, and he exhales, at ease. Felix nurses his overly sweet coffee in his hands while Jeongin watches their interaction with fascination, a cup of hot cocoa in front of him.

They're at the coffee shop, seated around a circular table by the window. A group of young teenage girls chatter on the other side of the room, giving them sly looks a few times, while an old couple read quietly beside them, flipping through old leather novels from the wooden bookshelf at the back of the room. The coffee shop is at its busiest in the late afternoon - which isn't much.

"I learned that too much caffeine is bad for you, so I switched to tea," Jisung quips.

"Doesn't tea have caffeine too?" Jeongin asks. Felix nods his head in agreement and ruffles Jeongin’s hair. Jisung pretends not to notice how Jeongin leans into the touch like a cat starved for attention - his little brother’s always been like that when it comes to Felix.

“Some do, but not all. This is one of them. Minho hyung introduced me to it and a few others. You should try it. I don’t know how you can stand,” here, Jisung wrinkles his nose, “that _sugary_ and _unhealthy_ drink. What are you, five?”

Felix places his palm against his chest, faking an offended gasp. “How _dare_ you,” he says, then pauses. “Wait, Minho hyung? As in, Minho hyung from the flower shop?”

“Depends on which flower shop you’re talking about,” Jisung replies daintily.

“There’s only one flower shop in this town, Jisung. ‘Dear Ephemeral Ones,’ or whatever it’s called.”

Jisung mutters, “It’s called ‘To The Ephemeral Ones,’ you idiot,” and Felix throws his hands up, catching a burst of giggles from the girls across the room. He ignores them. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it. Is this why you never walk to school with Jeonginnie and me nowadays? To go drink tea with Minho hyung?”

“Quiet down,” Jisung whispers. He feels a blush starting to rise up his neck. A headache starts to brew behind his temple; even the mention of Minho’s name affects him. “It’s only been, like, three times. Besides, you and Jeongin can have more bonding time.”

“Jeongin and I are already close, though,” Felix says with a slight sneer. He puts Jeongin in a headlock and gives the younger another loving pat on the head. Jeongin squeaks in surprise, pushing his glasses up his nose before they slide off. Jisung sends his little brother a sympathetic glance.

“Anyway, do you know how old Minho hyung is? He won’t tell me.” Jisung frowns down at his cup. The steam from the tea had fogged up his glasses, so he can’t see a thing. He takes his glasses off and wipes them with his sleeves.

“I dunno. Why should I tell you?” Felix says, feigning disinterest.

Jisung puts his glasses back on. “Changbin. I have his number,” he says in a deadpan.

Felix schools his expression, sits back, and crosses his arms. Jeongin looks dubiously at Jisung, as if to say, “You sure this will work?” Jisung reassures him with a wink, and Felix finally cracks.

“Fine. I dunno Minho’s exact age, but he should be a few years older.”

“Anyone can tell that,” Jisung sighs. “Think a bit more?”

“Well, he’s been around for as long as I could remember, so I never saw him at school…” Felix purses his lips, a pensive look on his face. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix shakes his head. “Nah, I must be wrong.” At Jisung’s questioning look, he elaborates, “I visited the flower shop with my mom when I was really little, and I could have sworn Minho hyung was there. That’s impossible, though. Maybe he has an older brother who looks exactly like him?” He scratches the back of his head. “I dunno, my memory’s kinda blurry.”

Jisung sits back into his seat and sets his cup on the table. It’s empty. “Some big help you are.” He checks his watch. “Jeongin, let’s hurry. We’re having guests over for dinner, and mother said we shouldn’t be late.”

Jeongin, who was observing the rest of the conversation without adding much input, nods and pushes his chair back to leave. The old couple beside them glance up at the noise.

“Wait, Jisung. You promised to gimme Changbin’s number.” Felix places his hand over Jisung’s.

“Did I?” Jisung says airily, brushing him off. “I remember saying I had Changbin’s number, not that I’d give it to you. Right, Jeongin?”

Felix turns to Jeongin and gives him his puppy eyes, but Jeongin pays him no mind and shrugs. “I think so,” he says.

“Better luck next time.” Jisung pats his friend’s shoulder, and bites back a chuckle at his look of betrayal. “Maybe ditch that newsboy cap, and I’ll consider it.”

“What’s wrong with my cap?” Felix cries behind them. “It’s in fashion!”

“See you tomorrow, Felix!” Jisung waves him goodbye. Jeongin’s close at his heels, quiet. When they exit the coffee shop, Jeongin slams the door behind him.

 

An old woman stops them on their way home, her lips set in a thin line, worried. "I truly do apologise to be a bother, but can you help me out here, sweethearts?"

Jisung slows down his pace, along with Jeongin. He doesn’t recognise the woman. She has her hair in a tight bun, a lavender shawl wrapped around her torso, and a hobble in her steps. The corner of her eyes creases when she sees them.

"Sure?" he says, hesitant. The sun’s already starting to set, embellishing the sky with tints of orange and pink. He and Jeongin should be able to make it home in time. His mother had said it was a late dinner, anyway.

"Oh, thank you so much for your help," the lady gushes. She gestures at her house, a long building with a red tiled roof that resembles a temple of some sorts. There's a ladder propped against the wall. "You see, these pesky kids threw cursed talismans on my roof, and I have to get rid of them before night falls, or else disaster will befall on my house. But as you can tell, I'm old, and I fear I cannot climb the ladder without my knees giving out. Then a calamity will surely happen."

Jeongin snorts underneath his breath, and the old lady throws a glare in his direction, although her gaze softens when she sees his cute glasses and braces. "You may think I'm crazy, but it's true. This town is home to many yōkai, good and bad alike, and I'd rather not take the risk."

Jisung reassures the lady before she goes on a long rant and apologises for his brother's rude behaviour ("He's young and naive. He doesn't know anything about yōkai," he says, much to Jeongin's chagrin), even though Jisung doesn't believe in spirits and demons and whatnot either.

A crow caws, perched on the edge of the empty stone fountain placed in the front lawn. Its ebony feathers are crooked at the tail. Jisung gives the familiar bird a slight wave.

"Oh, shoo," the old lady gestures at the crow. It flies away with another caw, taking off in a flight of dishevelled wings. A single black feather falls on the ground, which Jeongin bends down to pocket. "One crow is bad luck," she explains at Jisung's frown. "Now, I hate to rush, but please hurry. It'll get dark soon."

Jisung insists he should climb the ladder - Jeongin has a fear of height anyway - and when he makes it safely to the top, one rickety step at a time, he spots the talismans the lady had mentioned. There are three of them scattered over the roof. Deep, jagged lines are etched into painted stones, forming disfigured faces. Jisung shudders; he doesn’t believe in spirits or magic, but there's a sinister aura surrounding the stones, thick and slimy, that fills him with dread.

“Get this over with,” he tells himself in a mantra, as he takes the first stone and tosses it down, ensuring it doesn’t hit the old lady or his little brother.

“Careful!” Jeongin yells back, hands cupped over his mouth.

Jisung nods and plucks the second talisman with his index finger and thumb, then throws it over his shoulder with a shudder. The more he looks at the faces on the stones, thin eyes and gaping mouths, the more his guts twist in trepidation, heart quickening.

A crow caws from overhead.

He reaches out to snatch the last talisman. Nestled in his sweaty palm, the stone opens its slitted eyes, and screams. Piercing. Deafening. Jisung throws the stone back in a second, but it’s too late, and a gust of wind overtakes him, throwing him off balance. He starts to topple and grips tightly onto the tiled roof, but the tiles rumble under his hands and feet, trembling from the loud screams. His feet slip, and he falls back.

“Jisung hyung!”

Jisung screws his eyes shut.

Strong arms catch him, somehow, and Jisung opens his eyes to meet Minho’s concerned gaze. He feels a flush rise from his neck to his cheeks.

“Be more careful,” says Minho, voice soothing. “You’re lucky I caught you.”

He’s holding Jisung in a bridal position, one hand warm against his back and the other carrying his legs. Jisung scrambles to get down. He adjusts his glasses and stares at the ground, unable to meet Minho’s eyes. “Thanks.”

“Minho! Oh, I thought you weren’t coming over for dinner until later,” the old woman says.

“I’m a bit early, I apologise, Mrs Jung.”

“Nonsense. Thank you so much for saving that boy’s life. I don’t know how I’d live with myself if he had gotten injured.” She turns towards Jisung and pulls him into a hug. She smells like lavender. “And you, thank you for taking care of the talismans for me. I do hope you’re alright. Perhaps you’d like to rest up in my house for a bit before you go?”

Mrs Jung continues to fuss over him before Jisung manages to convince her that he’s fine and that they should really get going. It seems the third stone had fallen with him, and no one else mentions the screams, so Jisung wonders if he had imagined it. Probably.

Minho gives him a knowing smile, and suddenly, Jisung isn’t so sure anymore. He tries not to think about it too much.

 

“You like Minho hyung, don’t you,” Jeongin states it as a fact rather than a question. They’re nearly home.

Jisung stuffs his hands in his pockets and hums, “I think so, yes.”

“He’s kinda out of your league, hyung.”

“Oh, hush. I know. It’s the first time I’ve felt like this in a long time, though, and I’d rather try than give up,” he replies, then flashes Jeongin a cocky smirk. “Besides, I know I’m pretty hot.”

“Yeah, but Minho hyung’s not _hot,_ or cute or handsome. I dunno how to explain it, but he’s -”

“- otherworldly, I know,” Jisung finishes for him. “Believe me, I _know._ ”

There are times when he visits the flower shop for a quick drink of tea and has pointless little conversations with the florist. Sometimes, as he sips on chrysanthemum or hibiscus or whatever tea Minho’s concocted for him, Minho busies himself with the shop.

It’s colourful and beautiful. Growing something is difficult, yet Minho keeps the flowers alive with his green thumb and warm soul. The flower shop - Lee Minho - has a timeless quality. Unreachable for someone like Jisung.

Jeongin breaks his train of thought, out of the blue, his voice cracking. “I like boys.”

Jisung hides his smile; he’d seen it coming when Jeongin had asked about Minho with a thoughtful look on his face. “I know.”

Another pause. This time Jeongin stops walking, and Jisung turns around, waiting. He knows what Jeongin has to say next, but it doesn’t hurt him any less when the words tumble out of his brother’s mouth. “I like Felix hyung more than a friend.”

Jisung takes a longer time to reply for Jeongin’s sake. “I know.”

“I’m only a year younger, but he treats me like a little kid. And he has a crush on Changbin hyung! Someone he’s never met!”

“C’mere,” Jisung murmurs.

Jeongin nuzzles into the crook of his neck, and, after a moment, he breaks into a sob. Jisung feels the hot tears fall on his neck, and he rubs circles over Jeongin’s back, his other hand carding through his hair.

“He’s never gonna like me back,” Jeongin croaks in between hiccups.

_I know._

❀

School ends; Jisung and Felix graduate. They both receive acceptance letters to x university in the city, same as Changbin. They’d had to move out of town in the fall. Jisung doesn’t like thinking about it.

As cliché as it sounds, love is cruel. Jeongin begs him not to interfere, so Jisung watches, as Felix, oblivious, messes with Jeongin’s hair and gives him the biggest of bear hugs. He often catches Jeongin bursting into a smile whenever he sees Felix, then biting down on his lower lip as if reprimanding himself.

Despite knowing how much Jeongin is hurting, Jisung can’t bring himself to hate Felix. The boy has a naturally sunny disposition and the ability to draw anyone in with his husky laughter and eyes scrunched in happy crescents. He wears his heart on his sleeve and isn’t afraid to express his concern when he notices Jeongin growing distant. The two of them fight in Jeongin’s room.

Jisung stays out of it, and days later, they’re back to being friends, all three of them, although Felix's smiles are subdued and Jeongin's peals of laughter are stretched thin, forced.

❀

It’s nearing six pm, the closing time for ‘To The Ephemeral Ones,’ so he’s pleasantly surprised to see Minho still there. Jisung doesn't typically visit this late, but with the tension growing in between Felix and Jeongin, he yearns for a break, and Minho lets him in without question. Jisung’s come by often enough that he now has his own teacup and designated chair, which he settles in comfortably.

“This is chamomile,” Minho tells him when he’s pouring honey-coloured tea into Jisung’s cup. “You look fretful today, so I thought this will help reduce anxiety. It might make you feel sleepy too.”

Jisung blows over the top and takes a light sip. It tastes like a crisp apple with hints of floral sweetness, and he hums in approval.

Minho’s set the teapot down, and in his hands, he’s weaving a flower crown made of baby’s breaths, jasmine and a single pink rose. There are five similarly made crowns scattered over the counter, a gorgeous ensemble of white and pink, but nothing is more breathtaking than the crown of ruby roses settled on Minho’s dark hair, making his lashes a darker contrast against his cheekbones.

“What are the flower crowns for?” Jisung asks.

“Mrs Kim, you know the one who lives down the street?” Minho pauses until Jisung nods in recognition. Mrs Kim lives by herself since her kids had moved out, and she’d brought homemade chicken soup over before. She had taken a liking to Jeongin especially. “Her family’s visiting this week, so I offered to make flower crowns for her grandkids.”

“That’s sweet. I’m sure they’ll love it,” Jisung says honestly. “They’re beautiful.”

“I can make one for you, if you want.”

Minho knows Jisung’s favourite flower (white lilacs, because they symbolise first love and youth; a flower that, in a way, reminds him of himself. He doesn’t tell Minho this, of course), and he takes a few from the back, where the greenhouse is situated, looping lilacs with leaves and twisting twigs until he creates a halo of blue and purple and ivory.

“What do you think?” he says as he positions the flower crown on Jisung’s head. He gestures at the large, rectangular mirrors placed on the two sides of the shop. They’re covered by a verdant sea of potted plants and flowers, but Jisung manages to catch a glimpse of himself.

“They’re very pretty.”

“You _are_ very pretty, I agree,” Minho says.

“That’s not what I meant, though.” His reflection flushes back at him, a pretty shade of pink dusting over his cheeks. The lilacs in his hair glow, and he thinks that he looks softer in pastel, that maybe he does look pretty, glasses and silver earrings glittering under the dim lighting.

“Admit it, it’s true.” Minho fixes him a small smile. He takes a break from the flower crowns and goes to pour chamomile tea into his glass cup. His hands are steady. His features are sharp. Ethereal. Jisung doesn’t feel so pretty anymore, not when he’s beside someone like Minho.

He sits back, pensive.

Jisung knows that Minho loves being a florist, and it shows. The flora seems to curve towards him wherever he goes, as if he’s their source of sun, nourishing them with his presence. Jisung knows Minho lives upstairs and spends his days taking care of the shop and dancing in his spare time. Occasionally, he keeps grandmothers like Mrs Jung and Mrs Kim company, because they’re all alone in their big houses.

Jisung knows there’s a bird feed hanging outside of Minho’s window, and two birds in particular always show up - a japanese robin and a blue and white flycatcher. Whenever Jisung asks Minho about them, he gets a vague, “They’re my friends,” and a mysterious quirk of a smile.

Both birds like to stare at Jisung with distrust in their beady little eyes.

Jisung knows Minho, and Minho knows Jisung, but there are moments like these when Jisung feels like he’s fighting a losing battle. There are secrets hidden in broad daylight of the shop that are magnified at night, mysteries Jisung knows he can never solve.

Perhaps the biggest mystery isn’t why Jisung keeps on coming back like a pathetic moth attracted to a flame that it can never touch - but it’s why Minho hasn’t pushed him away yet.

“What do you do,” Jisung starts slowly, and Minho looks up, “when you’re in love with someone who can never love you back? I’m asking for my little brother.” He’s not entirely lying.

There’s a brief lull. The grandfather clock ticks. Somewhere upstairs, he can hear the birds chirping in the night sky.

“The logical thing to do would be to move on, wouldn’t it? But the heart is a fickle thing and it doesn’t always listen. I sympathise with your brother; it must hurt a lot.” There’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, so raw that Jisung’s taken by surprise.

“Have you ever experienced unrequited love?” He can’t imagine it.

“Not exactly, but I’m living through something similar to it right now.”

He meets Jisung’s eyes when he says this, and Jisung feels his lips dry. The birds upstairs grow louder, wings rattling against the walls.

Minho changes the subject. “The summer festival is coming up soon. Are you going?”

“Yeah, I’m planning to go with my little brother and a friend.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there.”

Jisung blinks, taken aback. “Maybe.”

And maybe he does have a chance, after all.

❀

Even though they still pretend to be friends, nothing’s resolved between Felix and Jeongin. A few days after their big fight, Jeongin confesses that Felix doesn't know of his crush and suspects that Jeongin's talking behind his back or that he hates Felix, which is far from the truth, but Jeongin hadn’t refuted it.

"You should tell him the truth before this blows out of proportion," says Jisung, but his little brother shakes his head vehemently.

"I don't want to ruin our friendship."

Does he not realise, Jisung speculates, that their friendship is already straining, ready to burst its seams? All he can hope is that it'll work out, somehow, because he's not willing to betray his little brother and tell Felix anything, yet.

❀

The night of the summer festival arrives, and Felix calls Jisung, claiming that he has an impromptu family dinner and it’s so important and he's so sorry and, “You and Jeongin have fun without me!” while Jeongin enters Jisung's room and makes poorly constructed excuses of plans he’s made with his classmates. Neither knows the other had ditched, and Jisung's left wearing his yukata, alone at the festival, and feeling very much like a fool.

Due to their town’s small size, the festival itself is small too; two rows of wooden booths fill the delegated area, right beside the forest, near one of the mountains’ offspring. Paper lanterns and light bulbs hang across thin ropes, winding over the roofs of the booths. Jisung jumps back to avoid a gaggle of young children playing tag. He nearly drops his stick of dangos. There, Mrs Jung sees him and waves him over, crates of persimmon by her feet.

“Would you be a dear and help me carry these to that booth over there?” she asks, pointing to the end of the row.

He finishes his last piece of dango and throws the stick away. Finally something to do. “I’ll be glad to, Mrs Jung.”

He’s carrying two crates of persimmon, a slight stagger in his steps, when someone wraps their arms around him to steady him, then takes a crate. There’s a hint of a floral fragrance, so Jisung’s not surprised when it’s Minho who grins down at him. “Lemme help.”

“If you insist.” Jisung rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.

They finish, and Mrs Jung thanks them profusely, pushing a few persimmons into their arms as their ‘reward.’ So, Jisung finds himself with nothing to do again and leans against a spare booth, although this time he has fruits in hand and Minho by his side. It’s an upgrade, at least. He bites into a persimmon, saccharine sweet, juice sliding down his wrist. He licks it off before he can make a huge mess.

"Your..." Minho falters, and Jisung quirks an eyebrow, finishing the last bite of his persimmon as he waits. Minho finally stammers out a simple, "Yukata."

Jisung plays with his sleeves, self-conscious. "Ah, this. It was a gift from my mother, so I didn’t really get a say. I get it's kinda fancy and over the top? Not that traditional, really. Like yours.”

Minho’s robes, although simple, suits him well. Shadows of translucent-white birds flit over the black fabric. A gold waistband brings out the shimmer of gold in Minho’s irises. He’s wearing black sandals, and when Jisung pays closer attention, he notices thin black strings tied loosely around Minho’s neck like a collar, along with matching black rings on his index and ring fingers, and black studs at his ears. Jisung opens his mouth, about to ask about Minho’s yukata when he’s stopped.

"No, no, that's not what I meant." Minho takes a delicate bite from his persimmon and makes a vague gesture with his left hand, frowning as he thinks aloud. "Like, I meant you look - You're -” Then, “I mean, the yukata looks beautiful on you.”

Jisung automatically looks down with a blink. His yukata is a gradient dark violet at the edges that lightens to pale ivory. Faint white arabesque patterns arrange themselves on the cotton fabric, dancing and whirling into flower shapes. The yukata is tied together by a waistband, where a large pearl brooch is centred. His mother had insisted for him to wear pearl earrings too, in commemoration of his grandmother as they used to be hers before she passed away, and he can’t help but notice the contrast between his and Minho’s - white and black.

“Really? My brother and me have a matching pair. He hates it. Says it doesn’t suit him, or me for the matter.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it looks beautiful.” Minho seems out of his comfort zone without his flower shop and plunders on awkwardly, “And I don’t see your brother or your friend around. I thought you made plans with them?”

“They ditched last minute.”

Minho frowns. “That’s not very nice. They left you alone at the festival?”

“They didn’t mean to,” Jisung explains with a grumble. “Things are awkward between them, so they each ditched without the other knowing. It’s fine. Not like there’s much to do here anyway - with or without them.”

For a moment, Minho hesitates, but he eventually asks, “You wanna go?”

“Go where?” Jisung asks back curiously.

“Do you see that cliff over there, right beyond the forest?” Jisung squints his eyes and nods. It’s not that far away. “That’s Mitsubatake, where the shiraki flowers are found. They only bloom for a short while during July. There’s a whole meadow of them and the view’s gorgeous. Especially at night.”

“You wanna go there with _me_?” Minho had said his favourite flowers were the shiraki, but the fact that he wants to go with Jisung is mind-boggling and frankly heartwarming.

At Minho’s confirmation, Jisung agrees - there’s no reason why he shouldn't.

Once out of the festival’s vicinity and into the forest, Minho takes the lead, guiding Jisung through shallow ravines and scattered pebbles. Jisung can hear the snippets of birds chirping until night starts to fall and a quiet buzz fills the air instead. He weaves through bushes and at Minho’s advice, stays clear of the thistles. In a moment of silence, Jisung ducks under another branch of leaves and accidentally steps on a twig. He winces at the loud snap.

He has no idea where they are or how to get out if he wanted to. His mother would throw a fit if she saw him following a stranger into the middle of the woods, but then again, Minho’s hardly a stranger. Jisung trusts him.

They reach the base of the mountain. Jisung spots the cliff Minho had pointed out earlier. “Finally, we’re almost there. I think I’m gonna die of exhaustion if we don’t stop soon,” Jisung groans.

“Still a long way to go, my friend,” Minho laughs at Jisung’s paling face and pushes him onwards, letting him take the lead. “At least there’s no more turns. It’s just up from here on.”

At first, the climb isn’t too bad - the cotton fabric of Jisung’s yukata is light and airy. Eventually, it’s not enough to keep thin trickles of sweat from gathering at the back of his neck, a light sheen across his forehead. His hair’s all mussed. Jisung struggles to feign a calm composure, breaths coming out in short exhales. He’s so focused on his breathing that he misses a stray rock on the path and loses his balance, tipping back into Minho’s arms.

“You alright?” Minho asks, keeping him steady with his fingers splayed over his back. Warmth spreads throughout Jisung.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replies. Minho’s steadfastness is comforting. He doesn’t tell him that, of course, but if Minho’s fingertips skid over his lower back as a source of reliability, he doesn’t complain.

They arrive at the cliff, and there’s nothing except grass and an endless sky filled with constellations.

“There’s...no flowers here?”

“Look over the edge,” Minho suggests. At Jisung’s look of disbelief, he brushes his hand against Jisung’s elbow. The little birds on his yukata waver in the wind. “I’ll be right here with you, so trust me, okay?”

Jisung swallows; although Minho’s tone is lighthearted, Jisung does trust him - a lot. For someone he’s just met three months ago through small talk in a flower shop, it almost concerns him with how much he trusts Lee Minho.

He edges forward and looks down.

A cool breeze causes him to blink, eyes watering slightly, and the back of his neck tingles. He forces his eyes open again. The sight takes his breath away; a sea of azure petals - shiraki flowers - at full bloom, glittering white and blue on a ledge of the cliff. Sweet, soothing scents waft into the air, brought by the wind. Jisung experiences an inexplicable feeling of nostalgia, but what nostalgia smells like is unbeknownst to him. He just misses _something_ \- but he hasn’t lost that _something_ yet.

It confuses him greatly.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Minho says, hands now on his shoulders. He doesn’t wait for a reply, maybe because he knows Jisung’s too awestruck to speak. “You see that small clearing in the centre? Would you be okay jumping down there?”

There’s nothing like jumping off a cliff and landing in the middle of a meadow of blue shiraki flowers.

Jisung’s surprised the ledge doesn’t crumble under their weight. He gets the same adrenaline rush when he risks his life in the city with Changbin, but it’s increased tenfold in Minho’s presence.

Minho toes off his sandals, so Jisung does the same. They lie back on the flower bed, facing the stars. Petals tickle the soles of Jisung’s feet, the back of his neck, his cheeks, and the side of his arms.

“You said these are rare-blooming, right?” Jisung asks, admiring a flower blooming through the cracks of the stone. According to Minho, they bloom during the day and night, never closing.

“Yes, only during July.”

“But you’ve kept a vase filled with these since before July?”

“That’s the beauty of them. They last a long time if they’re well taken care of.”

“That’s unbelievable,” Jisung says with awe. “I didn’t know flowers could last for so long. No wonder shiraki flowers are your favourite.”

“They die eventually though. Everything does,” Minho says wistfully, and Jisung turns his head to face him.

“Is that why your shop is called ‘To The Ephemeral Ones’? Ephemeral because all the flowers are waiting for their impending death?”

“It sounds rather depressing when you put it like that. But in a way, I guess so. My flower shop is dedicated to the ephemeral ones, those with fleeting lives.”

“So, like I said, flowers.”

“Basically.”

Jisung ponders on this. “If you know the flowers will die anyway, why’d you become a florist?”

“I never thought of it that way,” Minho considers. “Even if I know flowers have a certain...expiration date, I’ve been mesmerised by them ever since I could remember. Flowers are delicate, their lives are short, and yet they’re strong. They persevere and _grow_ nearly everywhere, including this chunk of rock here.” He lets out a huff of frustration. “I don’t know how to explain it properly. Maybe I shouldn’t grow so attached to such ephemeral little things, but I can’t help it.”

The moon lifts herself high into the sky and endless bounds of stars orbit around her. Minho looks at Jisung, relaxed, his gaze remarkably candid. “Simply put, this might sound stupid, but being a florist has been a dream of mine since I was a child.”

Minho, Jisung realises, is a human with dreams, just like anyone else on this planet. That should have been clear since the beginning, yet now, delight courses through his veins anyway.

“It’s not stupid. Dreams are never stupid,” he says sincerely.

Minho hums in agreement. “How about you? What’s your dream, Jisung?”

“Job-wise? Creative writing if I can make a living off it. I got into the creative writing program at x university, so we’ll see how that turns out. I hope I’m good enough.”

“I’m sure your writing is great.”

“You’ve never even read anything I’ve written,” Jisung says, surprised. At Minho’s unimpressed look, he shrugs awkwardly. “I can drop by with my writing journal for you to read tomorrow…?”

His gaze immediately softens. “Please do.”

That’s when Jisung sits up, startled by a falling star. One’s followed by many more until the sky’s brimming with streaks of light. He points at them, feeling very much like a child on christmas day. Minho reaches out a hand, beside his, fingers grasping at the twinkling lights. Jisung notices, for the first time, that his left pinky is crooked.

Jisung chooses a star and wishes on it. He feels the weight of Minho’s gaze on him behind his closed eyelids. Neither of them speaks a word, though. He finishes his wish - for Jeongin to find happiness - and opens his eyes.

Minho says, “What’s your dream then, unrelated to a job?”

Jisung leans back again, but keeps his arms closer to his chest. He turns the words over in his mind several times. His personal dream? “All my life, I feel like I’ve been lacking _something_. I think my dream will be to find this something, if that makes sense. You?”

“To tell the truth, mine’s kinda similar. For me, I don’t want to lose the things I treasure and love, which is impossible, but a man can dream, right?”

His voice sounds forlorn, but he doesn’t provide a more detailed explanation, so Jisung doesn’t ask. They talk for a bit, and the wind catches fragments of their murmurs, whisking their dreams away.

Time continues, ebbing in and out like the sea of shiraki flowers beneath them. When it’s time to head back, Minho insists on walking Jisung home.

He takes a moment to take it all in - walking with Minho down an old country road, over the bridge, stars reflected on the water. Their yukatas swish in the breeze. Minho’s hand brushes against his with every other step until Jisung gathers the courage to just...hold on. Minho’s eyes are bright when he teases Jisung’s rosy cheeks, and Jisung thinks that he can go on like this forever.

 

His family’s asleep when he gets home. He maneuvers past their furniture, and when he enters his room, he painstakingly takes out the futon from the closet. As he’s getting ready to slip under the covers, a shiraki flower lands on top of his pillow. Jisung blinks for a moment, then vaguely remembers Minho brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. He must have placed it then. Jisung takes his writing journal from his drawers and tucks the blue flower between two pages.

Then he closes the book, takes off his glasses, and slips into the world of dreams.

❀

Jeongin doesn't hang out with them anymore; he makes excuses that he has plans with other friends. Felix drops by in the morning sometimes, then rarely, until Jisung only sees him when he bumps into him on the streets or hangs out at his place without Jeongin. Jeongin and Felix aren't fighting, per se, but there's an unspoken agreement that they're avoiding each other again, and Jisung should stay out of it.

He wants them to be friends again, like how they used to be.

Instead, he escapes his house - morning jogs as his excuse - and meets up with Minho. Together, they visit a rustic tea shop down the street from the coffee shop that Jisung used to frequent with Felix and Jeongin. Minho's friends with the elderly man who manages the shop, so they often get free tea. It’s not the same as the tea Minho brews, though. Nothing’s the same under Minho’s touch.

Then, they pay their respects to abandoned shrines in the woods and wander through unknown trails that curve on the outskirts of the mountains. One time, Minho grabs his hand to guide him through rocky terrain, and doesn’t let go.

Jisung’s favourite part of Minho’s hands is his crooked pinky on his left hand - a singular, insignificant flaw. He holds that hand a lot. Their fingers slot together nicely, and Jisung, in a moment of bravery, tells Minho that.

So, they hold hands when there’s no one around. It’s their little secret.

❀

On sunny days with clear skies, Minho brings Jisung out to fish by a stream, not far from the main road but still in the forest. The foliage muffles the voices from the outside world.

Minho listens with a serene smile, hands wrapped loosely around his fishing rod, as Jisung lies on his stomach and reads excerpts from his writing journal. He's careful not to let the shiraki flower fall from its wrinkled pages. It inspires him on his slow days.

"You're a good storyteller," Minho tells him every time, without fail.

“And you’re a good listener,” Jisung shoots back, because it’s true. Minho never interrupts him and his attention never wavers. When Jisung finishes reading, he always provides feedback, eyes alit with genuine interest.

“You know that idea you had, the one about the human girl who falls in love with her childhood friend, a yōkai?” Minho asks.

“What about it? I’ve only outlined the bare bones, so I can’t tell you much.”

“Ah, I’m just curious. Does she ever find out the boy she loves is a yōkai?”

Jisung flips to the corresponding page, covered in uneven scrawls and messy doodles. He taps his finger on his chin, thinking on the spot. “Yup. She figures it out early on, I think.”

“And does she care?” Minho asks, a hint of urgency in his tone.

Jisung pauses. His answer is simple. “Not at all. She loves him no matter what.”

Minho blinks owlishly, the fishing rod in his hands forgotten even as the line twitches and tugs. “Stories like that never end well.”

“So what? Then I can be the first to write a happy ending.”

Minho doesn’t argue.

❀

Mrs Kim’s grandchildren loved Minho’s flower crowns; word spread, and now they’re in popular demand, especially with all the family and kids visiting for the summer. Jisung helps out in the shop whenever he can, taking orders on the phone and labelling potted plants by the entrance.

Lately, Minho's been teaching him how to arrange bouquets and make spring wreaths out of tulips and marigold. With his deft fingers, he demonstrates how to weave circlets and, of course, flower crowns. Even though they never wear flower crowns again, Jisung can’t get the image of roses nestled in Minho’s hair and lilacs in his own hair out of his head. He and Minho had complemented each other well.

Jisung dispels the thought. He worries his bottom lip as he tries to focus on trimming the stems of a few burgundy roses. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s pricked his finger on a thorn, and hisses softly.

Minho shakes his head, eyes zeroing in on the cuts littering his hands. “What am I gonna do with you?” he sighs fondly.

Striding over, he presses his lips against the tip of Jisung’s fingers. He peppers kisses down his hand until he reaches Jisung's knuckles, grazing over them. Then he pulls back and fixes Jisung a small smile. He flushes pink.

“Feel better?” he asks.

Jisung manages a nod - an easy grin. He doesn’t prick his finger on purpose again. Not at all.

 

Dealing with flowers gets easier with time and experience. It stops being a mandatory chore, and starts being more like a relaxing pastime to spend with Minho.

“Flowers are fascinating,” Jisung says abruptly in the hush of the shop. Minho’s replaced the vase of shiraki flowers on the counter, so he lets Jisung weave a crown out of the old bouquet. Despite their withering age, they still flourish in his hands, looping in and out of twigs in swathes of blue. “They have a significance in art, history, medicine, literature...so much symbolism is put into certain flowers and has been ever since ancient times. Like, I can see why shiraki flowers symbolize nostalgia, and that’s fascinating.”

“Have you always been interested in flowers?” Minho says, bemused.

“Oh no. I only researched flowers after I met you.”

“Really?” Minho lets out a laugh. It’s loud and unrestrained, alternating between hearty vocals and sharp intakes of breath - and it’s so incredibly real.

“You don’t have to laugh,” Jisung mumbles underneath his breath, and Minho laughs again.

“You’re cute.”

“Not as cute as you,” Jisung says, out of habit. That’s what he used to tell Jeongin all the time when they were little.

There’s a healthy glow on the apples of Minho’s cheeks as he laughs again, and Jisung stares. Without thinking much, he sets his unfinished flower crown to the side, goes on his tiptoes and leans over the counter, pressing his lips against Minho’s cheek. His skin is soft and smooth. Warm. Real. Minho’s real, and Jisung’s real. _This is real._

The same two birds that like to drop by Minho’s shop make a huge racket upstairs. Jisung thinks he even catches a glimpse of orange feathers - probably the japanese robin - peeking around the corner. There’s a disgruntled sound of a chirp.

“Your birds don’t like me very much,” Jisung snorts. His words falter when he catches Minho’s conflicted look, eyebrows pinched together, lips curved down. Jisung wrings his hands behind his back and steps back, going back to his flower crown. He shouldn’t have done that without asking permission first, even if it was a chaste peck on the cheek.

Knowing Minho, he’s too kind to say anything, so when he walks Jisung home, Jisung plans to gather the courage to apologise for overstepping his boundaries - then maybe run away and never look back.

Minho beats him to it. “Sorry I was distracted a bit earlier. Here, lemme give you my answer.” Jisung’s, _“Answer to what?”_ fades to a startled squeak when Minho gives him a peck on the cheek; it’s short and sweet, and everything Jisung could have ever asked for.

Also, he gets a new boyfriend.

❀

Jisung dials Changbin at a late hour, twisting the phone cord in excitement. Changbin’s the only one who’s never met Minho in person, unlike Felix and Jeongin. His friend picks up on the fifth ring, voice rusty from sleep. “If this isn’t an emergency, imma fucking kill you.”

“Changbin?” Jisung breathes out.

“Whaddya want now?” His voice clears up when he realises it’s his best friend.

"Do you remember the time I told you that I felt like I lacked something?"

“Yeah.”

"After thinking about it for a time I think I found what - or who - I was looking for."

“You got together with that Minho guy?” Changbin says in a lazy drawl. Jisung fumbles with his words; it’s official but all they’ve done is hold hands and kiss each other’s cheeks. The more he talks, the more he can picture Changbin’s growing smirk. “I gotta say, I’m not surprised. Knew you had it in you. Don’t rush it though. Take your time and don’t let the dude pressure you or anything.”

“Minho hyung’s not like that,” Jisung huffs. “But yeah, okay.”

“Good. Now go away. I need my sleep. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Right back atcha.”

Jisung would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy. The pressure on his shoulders lightens. His heart swells like a hot air balloon that can lift him high in the sky and never pop.

❀

It pops.

The sun hangs low in the sky, hidden by dark strokes of large, grey clouds hovering close to the ground. A chilly breeze picks up, whistling through the empty streets. One look at the foreboding weather - abnormal in summer - has most of the town's residents holed up in their houses. All except for one.

Jisung rubs the side of his bare arms, teeth chattering as he shuffles down the street. The only reason why he's out is that he has a dinner date with Minho planned in the comforts of the flower shop. His insides warm at the mere thought - he'd never tire of spending time with his _boyfriend._ He smiles involuntarily when he spots the familiar sign hanging at the door, 'To The Ephemeral Ones.'

Jisung enters the shop in a whoosh. Bells chime softly, muted by the low growls of the wind outside. The lights are off, save for a panel of light bulbs swaying above the counter. They hum, flickering on and off. Nobody's here.

Jisung checks the grandfather clock - four pm. He's early.

Minho's likely upstairs, so Jisung takes his time meandering around the shop. The flora seems down today; pots of orchids droop, wilted, along with dried-looking lilies, and dozens of hibiscus twist shut, as if it's already night. Perhaps it's the weather throwing them off, Jisung muses. The shiraki flowers in the mason jar are unaffected by the other flowers' plights, blooming blue like the usual. A scent of vague nostalgia washes over him.

_Nostalgic for what?_

Then he picks up a hush of murmurs, drifting down from upstairs. Curious, Jisung takes a few steps up the staircase, hand wrapped around the railing. He's been in Minho's room before. He knows Minho likes to keep his space clean. There are paintings of flowers on the walls, bundles of clothes in the closet - orderly - and a bird feed by the window, where the japanese robin and blue and white flycatcher often frequent. It's not a big deal. So, when his hand rests on the doorknob, why does his heart flutter against his ribcage like a bird trying to escape?

“Can’t you leave me alone? Why do you care about my personal life?”

He recoils as if he’s been shocked. Minho’s voice, typically soft and soothing to the ear, sounds panicked, a snarl at the back of his throat.

"Because we care!” another voice says. “You know it's a bad idea. Your relationship with that boy isn't going to work. He doesn't know who you truly are. And if he did, do you think he'd still be here?"

Are they talking about Jisung? Whatever Minho has to hide - his smiles always turn bittersweet whenever he thinks Jisung isn’t watching - he can tell him on his own time. Jisung scowls; what do these strangers know, anyway? Whatever Minho’s secrets are, Jisung doesn't care.

"He won't care, Chan hyung," his boyfriend says, as if he could read his mind.

The voice, supposedly Chan, persists, “This isn’t a fairy tale, Minho. There’s a difference between fiction and reality.”

The window sounds like it’s open. Rain starts to pitter-patter on the rooftop in a steady beat. There’s a lengthy pause, then a shuffle, and a heavy sigh.

“Fine. Say he doesn’t care. Then what? You guys fall in love and live happily ever after? You know that’s impossible. You’re just going to get your heart shattered into a million little pieces, and Woojin and I will have to be the ones to pick up the pieces.”

“We’re worried,” a third voice adds, velvet smooth. Probably Woojin. “What we’re saying might seem harsh now, but you need to understand that this cannot go on, or else you’ll end up like Seungmin. Jisung like Hyunjin.”

Who? Jisung silently mouths the names, but they’re unfamiliar and don’t ring a single bell.

“I know. I know all that, but I can’t stop -”

“It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you _have_ too. Which do you think sounds better? Breaking his heart now, when your relationship is just budding, or breaking his heart when it’s too late?”

He doesn’t hear an answer, but dammit, Jisung wants to know what they're going about. He's one half of the relationship; he deserves to decide whether he gets to stay or leave. It’s _his_ heart they’re planning to break.

“You know what you have to do when he comes over today, right? The sooner the better,” Chan says, softer.

“Yes,” Minho replies, and Jisung’s heart deflates. Minho couldn’t have given in that easily?

“I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to do this,” Chan says. Jisung wants to scream at him, at the strangers in his and Minho’s relationship, regardless if their Minho’s close friends. He can’t move.

“Don’t be,” Minho sighs. “I’m sorry for taking my frustration out on you guys. You’re family.” Jisung finally wills himself to move, but instead of taking a step forward, he takes a step back. “And it’s my fault for falling in love with him.”

His muscles freeze. Love?

“It doesn’t have to be love yet,” Woojin reassures. If he had been anyone else, in another situation, Jisung would have loved his velvety voice. Now, he hates it.

“...Right.” Minho’s voice is back to its soft lilt, resigned.

Jisung’s not sure if the sounds he hears is the blood rushing to his ears, or if the light drizzle has turned into a downpour. It’s both. Rain pounds on the rooftop, the ceiling vibrates, and his head spins. He sways on his feet. How many times has he told himself that there’s no way someone like Minho, otherworldly, ethereal, can fall in love with him? How many times has his friends and Jeongin doubted him and said he was out of his league? How many times has Jisung ignored them, too caught up in his fantasy?

He backs up, fear taking over him. He goes down one step, two, then on the third step, the hardwood creaks under him, barely audible over the rain.

“Did you guys hear that?” someone asks. Woojin.

Jisung doesn’t know what compels him to stay put. Dread fills his guts as he watches Minho’s door edge open. A stranger appears, broad shoulders taking up the entire doorway, streaks of blue highlighting his hair. Another young man peeks over his shoulder. He has a halo of curly blond hair, and his gaze is sharp. There’s a flash of recognition.

“You…”

Jisung doesn’t know them, but they’re Minho’s friends. They’re the ones Minho obviously places over Jisung. And for some reason, Jisung feels like he _is_ inferior. Like Minho, they suddenly seem unreachable.

He bolts down the stairs before seeing Minho, and runs out of the shop. Nobody calls after him.

Yes, his heart pops. (Or, to be more accurate, it fucking erupts, so disastrously, so significantly, so _overwhelmingly,_ that the skies light up and the cosmos spin, engulfing him in a fiery ball of red flames.)

His heart is on fire, but he returns home soaked to the bones, his tears mixed with raindrops. His mother takes one look at him and ushers him inside.

❀

The next morning, Jisung wakes to a fever. There are chills down his spine, and he shivers despite the sweat sticking to the back of his neck, curling the ends of his hair. His mother places a thermometer in his mouth, then mutters in concern, resting a cold, damp rag over his forehead.

Jisung sleeps fitfully, bedridden and chest wracked with coughs. It’s like he’s drowning in a bottomless ocean - not battered against the rocks relentlessly, but rather weighed down in the quiet slip of water. His dreams flit through his mind like pages of a book, a blur of colours and flower petals, his dreams and regrets.

It hits him with a startling intensity that he wants to stay; warm tea, blue flowers, a crooked pinky, pecks on cheeks - Minho. He’s already experienced and _felt_ so much more in the last few months than he has in the past few years, and he can’t let it end here. He can’t give up on Minho yet, after overhearing a conversation he didn’t understand. Giving up would be proving the strangers right, and he can’t let that happen, no matter how much they don’t trust him.

Jisung drifts in and out of consciousness. During brief interludes of time, he drags his eyes up, catching a shadow of a crow flitting outside of his window, its tail crooked. Day after day. He closes his eyes.

“I should have known traces of that talisman yōkai was residing in your body. Can’t believe it didn’t manifest until now. Ugh, your fever looks pretty bad. Here, have this. I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

A strong arm wraps around his back and lifts him into a sitting position. Cold glass presses against his lips and a hot liquid - tea? - stings his tongue. He latches onto the arm tightly; there’s no way those muscles belong his mother, but it can't be Minho either. _Another dream?_

“Minho hyung?”

“I’m sorry, Jisung.”

“Sorry for what?”

“...For falling in love with you.”

_Yes. Another dream._

 

Rays of sunlight filter through the windows, and he rubs his eyes, sight bleary. He pauses. His skin no longer feels sensitive against his blankets, his throat clear and shivers gone.

“Morning, dear. Looks like you’re all better, thank goodness. That was some unnaturally severe fever you had there.” His mother rests the back of her hand over his forehead. She sits back on her heels when she’s satisfied that he isn’t burning up anymore. She has prominent eye bags etched into her skin, although her relieved smile makes up for it.

“Yeah. Much better.” Jisung nods numbly. He pulls off his covers. “You look tired, mother.”

“Oh, that, I am. You don’t mind if I take a quick nap, do you? Jeongin and Felix are in the living room if you need any help.”

“Felix?”

She gives him a knowing look. “Yes, Felix. He’s been really helpful the past week. I believe he and Jeongin called for a temporary truce for your sake.”

“I see,” he replies slowly.

His mother kisses his forehead before leaving. He waits for a few minutes to gather his surroundings, fingers bunched in his blankets. A dull ache resounds at the back of his head. Then he gets up, picking his black frames from his desk, and slides his bedroom door open.

Jeongin’s sleeping soundly on the couch with his head rested on Felix’s shoulder. His golden glasses balance on the tip of his nose as he snores softly but steadily. Felix has a book in one hand, while his other hand cards through Jeongin’s hair. The younger snuggles closer, arms wrapped loosely around Felix’s torso.

“Hey, you’re finally up,” Felix says, spotting Jisung and smiling brightly. “Changbin called earlier. Said to call him back when you’re healthy again. He sounded secretly worried.”

“You talked to him?”

“Yeah. We talked about you a little bit, but also about other things. I didn’t realise how much he matched my ideal type. I mean, you could hear the passion in his rap, and in the pictures you showed me, he looked dark and mysterious, but talking with him on the phone was a whole other experience,” Felix sighs dreamily. “He’s so sweet, and I can’t wait to meet him once we get to x university.”

“Uh huh,” Jisung says dryly. He notices Jeongin twitch, his grip on Felix tightening ever so slightly and eyelids fluttering. There’s a pang in his heart. He guesses he’s not the only one suffering in the love aspect of his life.

“I convinced him to gimme his number too,” Felix rambles on, needlessly keeping his voice down for a ‘sleeping’ Jeongin. “And I told him about my newsboy cap, and get this, he said…Are you paying attention, Jisung…?”

“Sorry, tell me about it later. Imma call Changbin right now.”

“Rude much?” Felix toots, but waves him off anyway. “Come back when you’re done. Your mother made these godlike pancakes and you really should eat, after being sick and all.” The blonde goes back to carding his hand through Jeongin’s hair, and Jisung winces. Nothing he can do about that at the moment.

He takes the home phone, a lime green rotary phone, and calls Changbin.

“Hello?” Changbin answers after the first ring.

“Changbin, I need your advice.”

“Oh hey, Jisung. Glad to hear you’re alive. Felix said you looked like you were dying,” Changbin scoffs. “What’s up?”

“What do you do if you think someone’s in love with you, but wants to break up because their friends said we’ll never work out or some vague shit like that,” Jisung exhales, the words rushing out of his mouth like a waterfall. “I dunno if that made sense.”

“Woah, slow down. You’re in a relationship and didn’t tell me? Damn, that escalated quickly,” Changbin whistles sharply.

Jisung frowns. “What do you mean? I told you about Minho hyung already.”

“Uh, no. Pretty sure you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. He’s the florist I told you about!”

“Jisung, you must have had one crazy dream because you didn’t tell me anything about a florist or Minho.”

“...You sure?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” confirms Changbin. “Still want that advice?”

“No, I’m good,” Jisung says, uncertain. He tries to process what’s going on, but his thoughts are scrambled in a mess. “Talk to you later, bye.”

He hangs up before Changbin can reply and heads back to the living room. Felix glances up. “Done talking already?”

“I’m going to go see Minho hyung,” Jisung says, carefully watching Felix for a flicker of recognition. Maybe Changbin was pranking him, or it was a fluke, like a bad dream.

“Who?”

_This can’t be happening._

“How long was I sick for?” Jisung presses on.

Felix blinks, taken aback. “Uh. More than two weeks, I think? I dunno. You took longer than usual to get better.”

Fuck it. He needs to go. _Now._

“Wait! Jisung! Where are you going? What about breakfast?” Felix calls at his retreating back. “Shit - Jeongin, you’re awake...”

 

The flower shop is still there, but everything’s all wrong. Wooden boards barricade the windows. There’s no sign of, ‘To The Ephemeral Ones,’ on the door. Jisung peers into the glass windows and sees nothing but empty shelves and dusty mirrors. His designated white stool by the counter is gone, along with the tea set Minho likes to use. No flowers, no lights, no paintings - and no Minho.

“What the fuck?” Jisung stumbles back, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. “Was that really all just a dream?”

He tries to open the door, but it’s locked shut, and he nearly grows in frustration. In the panic of the moment, he’s tempted to grab a rock and shatter the glass to get in. Then a speck of black catches his attention. He looks up. There, a crow stands on the edge of the flower shop’s roof, its crooked tail swaying in the wind.

Jisung finds himself being pulled in, entranced by the bird’s dark pools of liquid eyes. It lets its sharp beak fall slightly open and caws, piercing and rough, filled with emotion. _A crooked tail and a crooked pinky._

“This is your secret, isn’t it?” Jisung whispers. “Look, Minho hyung, I don’t care what you are, whoever you are. Please, I want to be with you. Please, don’t push me away. Let me prove myself to you. I’ll do anything!”

The crow leans back, poised for flight. The hurt in Jisung’s eyes must have been evident, for it takes a brief moment to pause, blinking blankly as if troubled.

“Don’t leave me,” Jisung begs soundlessly, lips frozen shut and eyes wide open in desperation. He sinks to his knees, pleading with everything he has. The crow merely shakes its head as if to say, “It can’t be helped,” before leaping up without warning. It soars high into the sky, attaining new heights in a flurry of ebony dishevelled wings. There’s a sudden flash of scattered light, then the crow disperses into the distance. When Jisung loses sight of it, it comes with a dreadful certainty that he’s lost Minho too.

His lips part, a second too late. “Didn’t you say you loved me? You’re such a fucking _coward.”_

Then, “Fuck, I love you too, Lee Minho.”

Felix and Jeongin find him curled in a fetus position, arms wrapped around his head. There isn’t a single tear trailing down his cheeks, but he radiates of pure, unadulterated sadness. Hollow eyes. Broken. They don’t know what’s going on, but they stay with him for as long as he needs, pulling him into a warm embrace. After all, that’s what family and friends are for; they support one another.

❀

Asking around is pointless - no one remembers the quaint flower shop, once bustling with life, now abandoned. The handsome florist, Lee Minho, is also forgotten.

"You went to the flower shop when you were little with your mom!” Jisung tells Felix. Felix looks bewildered and waves his hands in defence, so Jisung moves on to Mrs Jung (“He came over to your place for dinner!”), Mrs Kim (“Your grandkids loved the flower crowns he made?”), the owner of the tea shop, and all of them, even Jeongin, answer with a shrug.

“You sure you’re feeling alright?” Mrs Jung coos, resting a hand on his forehead. Jisung backs away. “That fever must have hit you pretty hard.”

They all think he’s delusional, that he’s lonely and had dreamt of an alternate life. Jisung can’t stand their pitying gazes. He stops mentioning Minho, laughing it off as a weird dream whenever someone brings it up again.

He turns to other resources in his spare time, scouring through shelves of books on yōkai - what he suspects Minho to be - but none of them seem accurate. There are terribly written ghost stories of vengeful widows and drowned children, and stories of monsters that like to creep under floorboards, waiting for the right moment to strike.  There’s no stories of a shapeshifter, or a yōkai blending in with humans like Minho. Jisung starts to wonder if he really did make it all up.

He doesn’t want to give up.

Two weeks pass in a blur, and he and Felix have to move to the city for university. Jisung packs all of his belongings in cardboard boxes, his writing journal at the bottom of one. The book’s covered with writing, front to back. He flips to the page with the shiraki flower, dried yet still beautiful, and makes a vow.

It doesn’t matter if it was all a dream or a figment of his imagination to pass the lonely hours. The flower in his hands is the only proof he needs to know that he’ll never forget Minho.

❀

Jisung makes through the first school year by sheer luck alone. Changbin's parents had insisted on paying for their penthouse; it makes their lives easier, not having to worry about monthly rent or staying in school dorms, although Felix nearly fainted when they first entered the flat. Jisung was used to Changbin's luxurious lifestyle (imperceptible until you realise he’s wearing a rolex watch and armani sunglasses), so he barely blinks.

Felix goes into engineering. Changbin majors in business (to please his parents) while producing music on the side and promoting himself on soundcloud. Jisung doesn't know how he does it. He’s always loaded with work. At first, his creative writing class seemed like fun - it still is, sometimes - but with all the accumulated stress over the months, he can physically feel his creative juices depleting.

Summer holiday is a welcoming break.

Jeongin comes over to visit, braces removed and a smile on his face. They say wounds heal over time, and, in a year, Jeongin’s holding up fine. In fact, he’s more than fine. (“I’m sad you, Felix and Changbin hyung are having fun without me. I miss you guys, but I think I really needed this time to figure myself out,” Jeongin tells him over the phone. Jisung agrees wholeheartedly.)

“How long are you two gonna pine for each other before you realise it’s mutual?” Jeongin says in a light drawl, elbows propped on the glass table as Changbin and Felix banter in the living room.

Felix sputters, and Changbin looks away, cheeks burning. Jisung sighs. They’re a lost cause that he’s had to deal with a whole year. But, at least, he smiles to himself, Jeongin’s back to his normal bubbly self. He even has a new crush back in town but refuses to tell Jisung who it is. (Jisung’s slightly hurt, but he understands, mostly.)

They say wounds heal over time, yet the wound in Jisung’s heart has yet to heal. It’s not like before he moved out of the city, where he felt like he lacked something, but it’s like he’s lost something - someone - important. He can’t recall who, and it bothers him, plaguing his dreams and keeping him awake at night sometimes. It’s annoying when he has classes early the next day.

“So, what do you guys think about curry for dinner?” he calls from the kitchen. It’s a nice kitchen, outfitted with brand-new appliances and succulents decorating the shelves. There’s a huge window that looks out to a breathtaking view of the cityscape in the early evening.

“Hell no!” Felix shrieks, while Jeongin visibly blanches. Jisung raises an eyebrow as they push him out.

“Let Changbin hyung cook,” Jeongin insists.

“I’d feel bad. The dude’s cooked for Felix and me the past school year.”

“Trust me,” Felix says seriously. “You’d feel even worse if the first meal Changbin eats when school ends is burnt curry.”

“I burned the curry _one_ time! And it wasn’t my fault. I was discussing important matters with Changbin on the phone, so I got a little bit distracted, that’s all.”

“What important matters?” Changbin teases, still sprawled on the couch. “I don’t remember anything.” Jisung swivels on the back of his heels, jaw falling wide open.

“You can’t just -” he stammers. For god’s sake, Changbin’s supposed to take _his_ side. “We were talking about - ah - I don’t remember, goddammit.”

His hands feel cold and clammy all of a sudden, and Jisung looks down, confused. Then Felix laughs in his face, promptly taking over the kitchen. “I’d cook the _best_ meal Changbin’s ever tasted,” he exclaims and ties a pink apron around his waist.

Felix’s bright, affectionate and loud-as-fuck personality has worn Changbin down, and Jisung watches with a sly grin, as Changbin’s gaze softens and his lips quirk up into a small smile. He has his headphones plugged into his laptop, but Jisung bets he can hear everything they’re saying. It’s kind of sweet, but his heart aches for some reason.

He hears Jeongin dryly say, “But you’re an even worse cook than Jisung hyung,” followed by Felix’s offended gasp. He shakes his head.

He heads up the stairs to the loft, where Jeongin sleeps. His stuff is in disarray, half unpacked. Jisung spots a non-descriptive shoebox tucked away in the corner. Upon closer inspection, he reads, ‘Finders keepers,’ plastered on the top. His brother likes collecting things he finds, and Jisung’s always loved seeing what he’s picked up.

“Jeongin!” he shouts down. “Can I look through your ‘Finders Keepers’ box?”

“Go for it!”

He crouches down and gingerly lifts off the lid. There are dozens of small and slender corked glass jars labelled differently. The one labelled ‘ocean’ has miniature grey-pink shells, pebbles and sand at the bottom. There are cracked marbles and ones that gleam in the light, and shoelaces tied around broken bits of shiny metal. Jisung picks up a particularly large conch shell - he doesn’t remember Jeongin ever mentioning going to the beach since they live pretty far away.

A thin black feather falls out of the lip of the shell, floating to the ground. Jisung stares down at it, perplexed. He gets a weird feeling in his gut; it stirs and prods him. He slowly gets back up, his knees shaky. Jisung wobbles down the stairs and pokes his head in the kitchen. “Jeongin, where’d you get this?”

“Hm?” Jeongin looks up from cutting onions, tears welling in his eyes. He sniffs and blinks at the feather in between Jisung’s fingers. “Oh, it fell from a crow when you were helping Mrs Jung with those stupid talismans. Remember? You fell off the roof and...someone saved you.” He rubs his eyes. “Sorry, I can’t remember who. That’s so weird.”

_“Be more careful. You’re lucky I caught you.” A smooth, pleasing voice._

_A hand warm against his back. A flush rises from his neck to his cheeks. He adjusts his glasses._

_“You like...don’t you?” Jeongin’s voice._

_“I think so, yes.” Jisung’s reply._

“ - Hello? Earth to Jisung?” Felix waves a hand over his face. Jisung blinks back, and Jeongin continues cutting the onions.

“I’m good,” he says distractingly. He ignores Felix’s concerned look and instead of going back up to the loft, he walks back to his room. It’s like his body is on autopilot; he pushes his clothes strewn across the carpet to make way for the closet. At the back of the walk-in closet, behind more piles of clothes, are boxes of stuff he never uses. He digs through stacks of old journals and CDs, and plucks out one of his notebooks. Its spine creases when he opens it, and the book frays, nearly falling apart in his hands.

“Why am I doing this?” Jisung mutters to himself. His mind fumbles to make sense of the sense of wrongness in his heart. His hands tremble as he flips through the pages. He flips and flips and flips, page after page, the words smudging into black lines.

A dried blue flower falls out.

_Summer night, a blizzard of stars, a sea of blue flowers._

_“To The Ephemeral Ones?”_

_“Maybe I shouldn’t grow so attached to such ephemeral little things, but I can’t help it.”_

_A crooked pinky reaches out to the sky._

_“I don’t want to lose the things I treasure and love, which is impossible, but a man can dream, right?”_

_The wind catches fragments of their murmurs. Their dreams whisper into their ears._

_They walk home, and Jisung holds his hand over the bridge._

_“I’ll never forget…”_

_Who?_

Jisung - heart thundering so loudly that the sound reverberates in his head - drops the book with a gasp. Nostalgia slams into him in a torrent of fucking emotions, taking his breath away with a sharp jab in the stomach. Tears prick the corner of his eyes. A phantom scent of sweet flowers hovers in the air. His body tingles from his fingertips and down to his toes.

The journal falls face-up, papers whipping past in a whirlwind, and, like magic, it stops on a single page covered with half-finished drawings and barely legible writing. Jisung takes a moment to breathe, steadily, then peers at it. His eyes dart over the scribbles, and the more he reads, the more it hurts to breathe. It’s a love story between a human girl and a yōkai boy that he had thought of last summer. He hadn’t written an ending yet.

_“Stories like that never end well.”_

_“So what? Then I can be the first to write a happy ending.”_

His fingers clutch the strands of his hair as he bends over, forehead placed on the ground. He screws his eyes shut. It’s _right_ there, the memory dangling before him, but it’s like a veil is blocking parts of his sight, and he can’t remember.

_“I’m sorry, Jisung. For falling in love with you.”_

_..._

_“Fuck, I love you too...”_

“Lee Minho,” he finally breathes out, and his heart swells in happiness momentarily, before deflating again. Rage slowly seeps through his veins. He can’t believe he’d forgotten about Minho in less than a span of a year. He’d allowed himself to live, ignorant of the gaping wound in his heart. First year at university seems pointless to him now when he’s lost Minho in the process.

He sits back up, lips stretched in a line. He has to fix this.

“I’m going out! I dunno when I’ll be back so eat dinner without me,” Jisung shouts, slipping on a pair of boat shoes while waving Jeongin and Felix off. Changbin raises a concerned eyebrow.

“Where to?”

Jisung shrugs. “Home.”

 

 

It’s nearing dusk when Jisung steps off the train. The fumes curl into the clear sky, and he shields his eyes from the sun’s glare as he takes a deep breath of the warm countryside. It’s been a while since he’s visited; usually his parents and Jeongin come to the city instead.

He passes by the flower shop, unsurprisingly still devoid of life. As he weaves through the town streets, waving hello to the old lady at the grocery store and Mrs Kim with her grandkids, he finds himself in a clearing at the outskirts of the forest. There are a few booths set up and trails of lights hanging above. A few stragglers are setting up for the festival tomorrow.

“Sweetheart, look at how much you’ve grown,” wonders Mrs Jung when she spots him. She looks the same with her weathered hands and lavender shawl.

“Thanks.” Jisung scratches the back of his head. He looks the same, honestly. Nothing’s changed in this town. Everything aspect of it remains timeless; everything except Minho’s missing presence - and that makes all the difference.

He excuses himself before she can pull him into helping her; it’s not that he doesn’t want to help, it’s that he can’t afford to get distracted. Not this time.

It’s July. The shiraki flowers bloom in July.

Jisung doesn’t know if he can find the Mitsubatake mountain by himself nor does he know what he expects to find up there. Minho, maybe? Unlikely, but he has to try though. There has to be something he can do.

 

 

He slaps the fifth mosquito away. Wearing a muscle shirt in the middle of the forest at night probably wasn’t the best idea. His biceps and sides of his torso are left exposed. At least he’s wearing jeans, so his legs are mostly covered, save for a few rips here and there. Jisung pushes his glasses up his nose as they slide down from his sweat. It’s getting late, and he’s not sure where he is anymore. A slow, steady panic starts to rise up his throat, then he catches a burst of orange against the dark backdrop of the forest.

A japanese robin. Jisung looks around, and sure enough, there’s a blue and white flycatcher hiding in a spiky leaved branch.

“Chan, Woojin,” he dares to call out. “I know you’re there and I know what you are. You have to help me, please. I don’t know where I am.”

The japanese robin teeters out of its branch, chirping loudly in a very obvious, “Fuck off.” The flycatcher looks like it wants to chastise it, but keeps its beak shut.

Jisung crosses his arms. “Okay, fine. Don’t help me. But don’t you guys care about Minho hyung? Look, I know this might sound ridiculous, but all my life, I felt like I lacked something. Minho hyung completes me, and I know that I complete him too. He told me he loved me.” He pauses and worries his bottom lip. “Fuck it, I never believed in soulmates until I fell in love with Lee Minho, and I’m not letting two strangers tell me what to do. If we both love each other, what’s keeping us apart?”

There’s a stagnant pause. Jisung slaps another mosquito away. Then the japanese robin and the flycatcher share a look. There’s a flash of light, and Jisung closes his eyes out of reflex. When he reopens them, a young man is sitting on the branch, and another stands by the tree.

“I’m Chan,” says the man with curly blond hair. He leans back on the tree trunk and threads his fingers together, pushing them out so that the knuckles pop like someone setting off a line of firecrackers. He smiles lazily, dimples showing, and points up. “I’m the robin. The flycatcher’s Woojin.”

Woojin’s the one with blue highlights in his hair, and he waves down. “Hey.” His voice is velvety smooth, enveloping him like a soft blanket.

They’re wearing traditional robes that match the colours of their birds. The cotton fabric shifts in a light breeze and falls gracefully on their legs. Jisung picks at the ends of his frayed jeans self-consciously. It’s a lot to take in all at once. Sure, theoretically, Jisung knows that yōkai can shapeshift, and that Minho and his friends are a type of bird yōkai, but knowing and seeing them transform first-hand makes all the difference. He guesses he wasn’t wrong when he called them otherworldly - in a way, they are.

They’re beyond his status, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I need to see Minho hyung.”

Woojin gives him a pitying look, and Jisung bristles. “Don’t tell me I can’t. I’m not leaving until I see Minho hyung for myself.”

“Calm down for a sec,” Chan says. He props his leg behind him and pushes off the tree trunk. Jisung watches warily as he approaches, fingers closed in a tight fist and nails digging into his palms. Chan doesn’t seem to notice or care, and clears his throat awkwardly. “Do you know what exactly we are? Or do you just have a vague semblance of an idea?”

At Jisung’s lack of response, he assumes the latter and scoffs. He backs off and sits at the base of the tree, motioning Jisung to sit in front of him. After a moment of consideration, Jisung realises Chan’s not planning to say any more until he complies. So, he sits.

The trees grow taller from a lower perspective, looming above him. Jisung glances up. Woojin’s procured a persimmon from god-knows-where and chews on it, eyes trained on Jisung. The orange fruit reminds Jisung of Mrs Jung’s persimmons and when she gave them to Minho and Jisung at the festival last year - and when they went up to see the shiraki flowers.

It seems like just yesterday when he last saw Minho. He can clearly remember every detail of his face, from his long eyelashes and curved lips, to his soothing voice and unrestrained - real - laughter.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of yōkai,” begins Chan, and Jisung turns his attention back to him. Chan’s voice is a forced calm, but he can see his shoulders tense up. “Most people can’t see yōkai. But Minho, Woojin and I are bird yōkai, so we can shapeshift into humans and live among them if we wished.”

“Like Minho hyung,” Jisung says. Minho was the owner of a flower shop. He kept Mrs Jung company because she lived alone, and wove flower crowns for Mrs Kim’s grandkids. He was known as the charming, handsome florist of the town. Everybody loved him. Jisung’s stomach drops. Everybody forgot about him.

“Why did they forget?” he whispers.

Chan sighs. “Although we can’t erase human memories, we can meddle and confuse them to make them forget certain things.”

“But I remembered.”

“You remembered,” Chan affirms. He crosses his arms, his expression indistinguishable. “I got to say, I’m impressed. But that doesn’t change anything. You’re human, and Minho’s not. You can’t be together.”

Jisung opens his mouth to retort, but Woojin beats him to it and drops down from the branch. Jisung's eyes are barely fast enough to keep track of his movements. He flinches back when Woojin lands a few steps away.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. He plops down to sit cross-legged beside Chan. He tips his head back, pauses, before starting. “Before we met Minho, we had a friend. His name was Seungmin. Seungmin, unlike us, was a different kind of yōkai. He was the spirit of a cherry tree down by the river here and couldn’t be seen by most humans.”

“Seungmin,” Jisung sounds out the name. “I overheard you guys saying how Minho was like Seungmin, and for me, I’d be -”

“Hyunjin,” Woojin finishes. He lets out a long, suffering sigh, and Chan wraps his arm around his shoulders. Woojin leans into the touch. “Hyunjin was a human - one of the few who could see Seungmin. He was the one who planted Seungmin’s cherry tree and watched over it as it grew. They became friends since young and grew up together. They did everything together, always going off on adventures in the forest and up the mountains. It came to a point Hyunjin had no other friends beside Seungmin, whom no else could see. He was, in his family’s point of view, a freak.”

Chan lets out a cough that sounds a lot like, “Stupid humans.”

Woojin ignores him. “Hyunjin was labelled a freak by his classmates and family because they thought his only friend was his imagination, but he didn’t care. He fell in love with Seungmin, and Seungmin loved him too. He’d come to us and rave about Hyunjin this, Hyunjin that; how his giggles sounded like spring and how his eyes scrunched into crescents when he smiled; how he worked hard at school and woke up early in the morning just to see Seungmin; how they were meant to be. ”

“See, you’re not the only one who loved a yōkai,” Chan cuts in, again. “And it _never_ ends well.”

“Chan,” Woojin warns, voice tight with strain. He rubs his eyes, and Chan shuts up. “He’s right, though, Jisung. It never ends well. During high school, Hyunjin’s parents forced him to leave town and got him a role in a movie. It hit big and was his breakthrough. He became the nation’s sweetheart. Everyone loved him; no one knew that he had no friends other than an ‘imaginary’ one when he was little. His parents wanted to keep it that way, so they didn’t let him return home.”

“Wait, Hyunjin, as in Hwang Hyunjin?” Jisung asks suddenly. At Woojin’s nod, he feels his jaw fall open. “My mother loved him when she was a teen. She still has posters of him somewhere.” He remembers her showing him the posters when he was little. Hyunjin was handsome and had a broad smile and perfect lips, but he’d always complained how his eyes looked sad. His mother had said that was how he always looked.

“It wasn’t entirely his fault. His parents kept his schedule jam-packed; he was worked to the bone. When he finally found the time to come back and visit Seungmin by the river, it was too late.” Here, Woojin pauses to swallow, hard, as if there’s a lump in his throat.

“There’s no cherry tree by the river,” Jisung says in realization.

“When trees die, their spirits die alongside with them. Cherry trees typically only last sixteen to twenty years. Seungmin died when he was seventeen.”

Jisung sucks in a breath. He has that sickening sense of the world turned upside down, then realises he’s put his head down between his knees. He blinks back a tear, but something wet glides down his cheeks anyway.

“Seungmin died thinking the one he loved left him for good,” Chan spits out bitterly. “And Hyunjin lived the rest of his life as an empty shell.”

Distantly, he’s aware of a gentle pressure on the crown of his skull, and Woojin’s voice saying, “You understand why you and Minho have to break it off now, right? Yōkai and humans never end well together, and it’s better to get it over now than when it’s too late, right?”

Jisung wants to answer. Really he does. But he feels like he might fade to black for a while, and he'd rather not do that. So he focuses on breathing, until the strange, swimmy cold feeling fades away. He keeps his head down until he can pull his thoughts together. He takes the story of Seungmin and Hyunjin and tucks it away, somewhere deep in his heart so that he won’t forget. He remembers the story of the human girl and the yōkai boy that he has yet to finish. He doesn’t want to leave loose ends.

“So what? Then I can be the first to make a happy ending,” he ends up saying. He fists blades of grass between his fingers, looking down as he pulls at it.

When he looks up again, he finds Woojin’s eyes on him - thoughtful, inscrutable. “You still believe that, even after hearing Seungmin and Hyunjin’s story?”

“With all my heart,” Jisung says. “I appreciate the concern, but if I could just _see_ him in person one last time, I believe we can work it out, somehow. I know you said it’s better to break it off now rather than when it’s too late, but it already is. I told you, it’s like meeting your soulmate. My life will never be the same without him.”

“You don’t get it! We’re not just trying to protect you, but it’s Min -” Chan starts, voice cracking, but Woojin covers his mouth.

He gives Jisung a long, hard look. “You’re still immature. And a human. But,” he looks at Chan with a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips, eyes oddly sad, “Minho deserves to be happy sometimes too.”

Chan’s shoulders sag in defeat. He brushes off Woojin’s hand and looks away, lower lip jutting out.

Jisung stands and straightens his back. The moon’s high in the sky now, just like when he and Minho first went up the cliff. He follows a trickle of stars down until, out of luck, he spots the Mitsubatake mountain, jagged edges gleaming, calling him.

“You know how to contact Minho hyung?” Jisung asks.

“Yes,” says Woojin.

“Can you tell him I’ll be waiting where the shiraki flowers are found?”

Woojin shares a look with Chan, who runs a hand through his blond curls and huffs. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Jisung says sincerely.

“There’s a possibility he won’t show up though,” Woojin warns. “He knows the risks that comes with being with a human.”

“Tell him I’ll wait forever if I have too,” Jisung smiles. “And I trust him to hear me out, at least.”

 

Jisung waits in the field of shiraki flowers and basks in the hazy moonlight. He gazes at the sky until the stars start to chatter among themselves and spin out of focus. He yawns, his eyelids growing heavy, as he lies in the embrace of the sea of flowers, fragile petals brushing against his bare arms and tickling his torso. A sweet scent rolls over him, like when tea warms his entire body, like when Minho holds his hand and kisses his cheeks. Sweet, like Minho.

Jisung finally understands why shiraki flowers and nostalgia go hand in hand.

He waits, until his eyes flutter shut, and he's asleep by sunrise.

❀

He digs his claws on the edge of the cliff, head tilted forward to examine the human below him. He finds the blue flowers cradling him as he sleeps, chest rising and falling steadily. The sun peeks its head out, painting his cheeks, arms and collarbones in stripes of washed-out cream and gold. A natural shade of pink dusts across the peaks of his shoulders and the apples of his cheeks.

Minho’s mesmerised. He doesn’t think he’ll ever not be.

When he first met Jisung, he was trapped under piles of human rubbish. He didn’t dare to transform with all the people milling about, but no matter how loudly he cawed, not a single soul came to help him. They saw and heard his plights, yet they turned their heads away, too busy to give him a second look. Humans can be nice, sometimes. But they can also be cruel when they do nothing and act like bystanders.

A teenage boy with dark messy hair and round glasses crouched beside him, and changed his life forever. It was a small gesture of kindness, lifting the lid off his feathered tail, but a crow never forgets. He etched his face - soft, open, adorable - into his memory and flew away.

Sometimes, Minho would see him as he walked to school with his blond friend and little brother. They’d talk and laugh, and threw hugs and pushes, and played around until they dropped dead on their feet. Minho used to watch the boy who saved him, and although he was satisfied seeing him happy with the ones he loved, a grim feeling churned his stomach.

The thing is, Minho was so, so lonely.

He had Chan and Woojin, but they loved each other, and no matter how hard Minho tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness off.

Meeting the boy again, in human form, was like a breath of fresh air, filling his heart until it nearly burst at its seams. Minho learned that his name was Han Jisung, and that his favourite flowers were lilacs, and that he loved music but not as much as he loved writing. He learned that Jisung liked the tea he brewed for him - Minho takes pride in that - and that he flushed pink easily.

Most importantly, Jisung had a heart of gold, and Minho knows falling in love with him was inevitable.

It’s just...he didn’t expect to fall so hard, so quickly.

He has to leave soon, before Jisung wakes up, but he lingers for a moment longer. The last time he saw Jisung was by the abandoned flower shop as he begged him to stay. Minho inhales shakily; he really does have to go before it’s too late.

He freezes when Jisung blinks away the sleep and looks his way - eyes wide, completely stock still. His eyelashes brush against his glasses, and his face is an open book, every flicker of emotion bright as day and just as clear.

He’d missed him.

“Minho hyung, I know that’s you.”

By the time Jisung stands up, Minho’s taken a stumbling three steps backwards, as a human. He’s transformed without realising. He registers arms wrapping around him vaguely, in a distant, pleasant sort of way. It takes him much longer for his brain to catch up, taken by surprise.

Jisung's in his arms, so close that Minho can make out each individual eyelash that casts a spidery shadow on his cheekbones. Minho’s can feel every hard line of Jisung’s smaller frame. He can feel the rise and fall of Jisung's chest when he breathes. His hair tickles his chin; it’s mussed and squashed from sleep, framing his face perfectly.

The moment seems to drag out forever, warm and sweet and soft. A scent of blooming flowers wafts into the air, and the sun rises higher in the distance.

"Jisung," says Minho, voice subdued.

Jisung’s arms tighten all at once, holding him close like he’s afraid Minho will slip away. He’s not wrong, though. Minho tries to push back - puts enough distance between them so that he can see the sudden flush across Jisung’s cheeks, and the way his eyes brim with tears. He falters, and Jisung holds him tight again, pressing his cheek against his chest.

Slowly, Minho raises his hand and rests it on the crown of Jisung’s head. He mindlessly cards his fingers through his hair, pulling and loosening the knots. Something wet soaks through his collared shirt.

“I refuse to let you go again,” Jisung says. “Stop running and let’s talk.”

“I can’t -”

“Even if you’re a yōkai, I want to be with you.”

Minho gulps and screws his eyes shut. He drops his head back, an ugly sob clawing at the back of his threat. Jisung’s warm and soft; his body melts into his like it was meant to be. A spark ignites his heart, thrums through his veins, and fuck it, Minho wishes he can stop time, if only for a moment longer.

“Minho, Minho, Minho, Minho,” Jisung repeats his name in a mantra, words blurring into one continuous sound.

Minho forces a chuckle. “It’s ‘hyung’ to you. Even if I’m young for a yōkai, I’m still way older than you.”

The joke, if you can even call it that, falls flat. It only serves to remind him that this moment - this fleeting moment - will come and go, and before he knows it, he’ll be lonely again.

“Stay with me, Minho,” Jisung pleads in a whisper.

He can already feel his resolve crumbling, and he says, brokenly, “There’ll be even more tears later.”

“That’s not true. If the day comes, I’ll drive it away...So please, don’t run away.”

“You don’t understand, Jisung. Relationships between human and yōkai never end well,” he croaks out.

Jisung pulls back, eyebrows knitting together and lower lip trembling. His eyes and nose are red. “You said you loved me right?”

Minho nods. That - no matter how hard he tries to deny it - is true. He loves Jisung.

“I love you too, Minho hyung.” Jisung jabs his finger into his chest. “And I’m not afraid. Don’t you love me enough to not fear the end?”

He never expected to fall in love so hard, so quickly. But more than that, he never expected to have his feelings reciprocated. He’s elated, but at the same time, he feels like he’s free falling to his ultimate demise filled with heartbreak and tears.

He recalls Woojin’s words and Chan’s apologies last night when they came to see him. He was by himself in the thick of the forest, staring listlessly at his reflection in the pond, eyes dull. He had sat there the day he abandoned the flower shop and said goodbye to Jisung. He sat there until the days bled into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and the months formed a long, hard year without Jisung.

_“You deserve to be happy too.”_

Minho hesitates, and Jisung says, “Don’t worry. It doesn’t have to end badly. Like that story I wrote, remember? About that yokai boy and human girl? I promise, I’ll make it - our story - a happy ending.”

It hits him with a startling intensity that he _needs_ to be with Jisung. Although he didn’t live in this town when Seungmin was still alive, he can see the scars of Seungmin’s loss - Hyunjin’s too - left on Chan and Woojin. They're like his family, and he can't bear to hurt them a second time. But he has a feeling he won’t be able to live with himself if he lets go of Jisung now.

Besides, as Jisung said, they can make it a happy ending - temporarily. He stops thinking for a while.

“Alright,” he finally breathes out.

He wordlessly wipes Jisung’s tears with his thumb, swiping underneath his glasses. The air, though filled with unspoken words, is strangely intimate, and Minho isn’t surprised when Jisung leans closer into his touch. His hand cups Minho’s jaw to pull him in for a kiss, and Minho meets him halfway, smiling. He tastes like home.

He didn’t think it was possible, but he falls deeper in love with a boy named Han Jisung.

❀

Unlike Seungmin, Minho’s longevity isn’t tied to a tree. He’s young for a yōkai, and he gets to wander the earth for a long time before he meets his end - too long.

 

_“Yōkai live long lives compared to mortals. To us, you’ll be dead in a blink of an eye, rotting in the ground like you were never alive in the first place. That’s why most yōkai don’t bother integrating themselves in human society. There’s no point in getting attached.”_

There’s no point in getting attached to flowers. Every flower - even the beautiful shiraki flowers that, although rare-blooming, can last a long time with proper care and love - eventually shrivel and wither and die.

Yet here Jisung is, head settled on Minho’s lap, eyes fluttered shut as he faces the sky, lips parted. Minho weaves a flower crown of shiraki flowers - shimmering blue and white - and he places it on Jisung’s head. Jisung nuzzles into the contact and murmurs softly in his sleep, clutching loosely at Minho’s hand.

Minho feels the smile take over his face one trembling second at a time. It grows and grows - hesitant and disbelieving. _This is it._

Jisung drifts back to sleep. His lips are pink; his cheeks glow with life. A fleeting, dazzlingly fragile life that lasts a moment, but a moment to focus on his brilliance and tuck away the fond memories to look back on later on.

“We know the flowers’ petals will fall someday,” Minho muses aloud, quiet, to himself, “And yet still, we’re entranced by them.”

He leans over Jisung’s head, and gently blows. The flowers, woven loosely, scatter at the gust of air, and a breeze washes over them, lifting them to the sun. Jisung’s bathed in a warm glow, the sunlight slanting down in liquid gold over his shoulders. Bits of petals sprinkle on his cheekbones, like twinkling fairy dust. Enchanting. Everything about him is so incredibly real, yet Minho feels like he’s dreaming.

If this is a dream, he never wants to wake up.

He falls back with a bittersweet smile. Of course, there'll be more tears later on. Because no matter how beautiful, like cherry blossoms, human lives are simply that:

_Ephemeral._

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why i thought this was a good idea until i was about halfway done already. this fic was kinda a pain to write since i...don't usually write this kind of stuff? ahh, it's kinda wordy and took forever but i'm glad i can finally wash my hands of it!
> 
> thank you for reading this till the end, and, as always, comments are much appreciated~
> 
> and hmu on [tumblr](https://straykidzz.tumblr.com) if you want :D


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